Tian Lei's gaze lingered on Haiyun, thoughtful. "Will you teach me those modes?"
Haiyun smirked faintly, leaning his weight against the staff. "Teach? No. But you can have them."
Tian Lei arched a brow. "Have them?"
"Watching's a kind of teaching," Haiyun said, voice rough but certain. "Stay alive long enough, keep your eyes open, and you'll pick up what I've carved out. Can't hand them over like sweets to a child—but you'll see."
Tian Lei inclined his head, accepting without further words. He closed his eyes, slipping back into meditation, qi cycling in calm streams as the beast carried them onward.
Days passed in that steady rhythm—wind, mist, silence, and the quiet pulse of cultivation. Until, at last, Haiyun's voice cut through the stillness.
"Open your eyes, boy."
Tian Lei stirred, lids lifting slowly—then stilled.
